


Trigger

by HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: When Daenerys challenges Jorah to demonstrate how quick he is at 'field stripping' his gun, his prowess leads to another type of stripping
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48
Collections: Jorah and Daenerys' Garden of Erotic Delights





	Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> This was an actual deleted scene from The Protector, occurring between Chapters 21 and 22. Meaning, it was literally part of the original story, but I inexplicably cut it out. I have no idea why, but now, here it is! You don't need to have read the story to understand what's going on, but it wouldn't hurt to give the story a read ;D
> 
> A big thanks to @chryssadirewolf on Tumblr for (another) amazing, beautiful moodboard. And to clarasimone...you kept after me (in a good way) to post this scene after I left slip that I took it out. I'm so glad you did, now everyone can enjoy some Jorah and Daenerys lovin'. Merci!

“I've never seen one up close before,” she said, sitting down next to Jorah at the dining table.

“Would you like to hold it?”

She eyed him, then the handgun warily, but finally nodded.

He handed it to her, grip first, her fingers curling around the cool metal. The knurled texture bit into her palm a bit, but she suspected that Jorah probably didn't notice that anymore. It was somewhat lighter than she expected, the matte black barrel smooth to the touch.

“Was this the gun you used in the Army?”

He nodded. “Same model anyway.” He watched her hold it out in front of her, eyeing down the sights, “Do you want to learn how to fire it?”

“Why? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm pretty handy with a vase.”

“Indeed, you are,” he chuckled, “but you might not always have one nearby.”

“That's okay,” she handed it back to him, “I'll leave it to the expert. Did you and your fellow soldiers used to time each other taking apart and putting back together your guns?”

“Yes, it was a good way to pass the time. It's called 'field stripping' by the way.”

“Ooo, that sounds a lot sexier than what it actually is. I bet you were the fastest.”

He shrugged. “Not every time.”

That was one of many things she loved about Jorah. He wasn't boastful. “Do it for me.”

“You want me to strip for you, love,” he asked with a wink, his voice a delicious low purr.

_Gods he has to know what that does to me._ “You know what I mean,” she answered, playfully slapping his uninjured bicep.

“All right, I'm going to need something to cover my eyes.”

She got up and grabbed a dishtowel from the counter. When she came back, he was already disassembling the gun. She didn't know the names of all the parts, but the top was disconnected from the bottom and he was pulling out something that had a spring around it. He took the towel from her and covered his eyes, tying it behind his head. His hands moved over the parts, fingertips following contours and lines, organizing the pieces in a particular order on the tabletop. Then he rested his hands palm down, “Count to three and then start timing me.”

She picked up his mobile and opened the stopwatch app, her thumb poised over the green icon, “Okay. One, two, three.”

Jorah was nearly a blur of precise movement, metal clicking into place with each piece he fit together. He slid the magazine into the grip and laid the assembled firearm on the table, hands at the starting position.

“Six point two seconds.”

“I'm losing my touch,” he sighed, taking off the blindfold.

“Losing your touch,” she echoed, “You were faster than that?”

“I often made five and a half seconds.”

“Wow.” She was very impressed. “You carried a bigger gun too, right?”

“A rifle, the SA80. This,” he held up the handgun, “is a Sig Sauer. Not all men carry this.”

“You were special then,” she said, smiling.

“Something like that.”

“Do you still have your uniform?”

“I think so, likely boxed up somewhere.” He could see her mind working. “Women love a man in uniform, don't they?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Why is that?”

“I can't speak for other women, but for me, it's about protection. If he can protect his country, he can keep me safe.” She rose, moving to his side. And it was like he was reading her mind, the way his hands rested just above her hips and drew her to sit sideways across his lap.

“Is that all,” he asked, his fingers carding through her hair, her head leaning into his touch.

The air shifted between them, what had been an informative and light-hearted discussion was now anything but.

“It's just really sexy. The dashing hero, swooping in to rescue you from the bad guys.”

“Your modern-day Knight in shining armour.”

“Exactly.” She went quiet, merely looking at him, studying his features. She lifted her hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his beard. “I've never felt so safe with someone in my entire life.”

“I will always protect you, love,” he said earnestly, his gaze soft but sure.

His words resonated in her soul, her entire being yearning for him in that moment for reasons even she couldn't understand. She closed the distance between them, claiming his lips, her tongue dipping into his mouth to tangle with his. Snaking under her shirt, his hand spanned the width of her back, drawing her closer, his kisses moving to her jaw, then her neck. She went pliant in his embrace, surrendering to the heat he built so easily in her core. Gods, she wanted him again, her body desperate to feel him inside her, filling her completely. Writhing in his lap, her bottom grinding against his swiftly burgeoning hardness, his hot breath ghosting over her skin. He sat back, taking the hem of her shirt in his hands and pulling it off in one smooth motion.

“Jorah,” she whimpered when his mouth latched onto her breast, his tongue laving her nipple, his teeth gently scraping. He palmed the other, his fingers teasing. He knew just how to touch her, knew how to make her center slicken with need. Unable to stand the torture anymore, she pushed his hand downward, hoping he would get the message.

He groaned against her breast, working the button and zipper of her jeans open, then into her panties, seeking and easily finding her abundant wetness with a husky groan. “Gods, love.”

She made a strangled sound when his index finger pressed and circled against the center of her need, her fingers grasping his shirt tight, her body surging against him. Their next kiss was rough, hungry, his touch had her heart hammering in her chest. He pulled his hand free, her high frustrated whine of 'no' had him whispering, “Let me give you more.”

He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, setting her on the edge of the table. He made quick work of her clothing, her legs spreading further in invitation. He moaned at the sight of her glistening lips, begging for the deepest kiss. He parted her with one hand, dipping his head, his tongue weaving through her folds to her clit, where he stayed. She fell back against the table, her hips lifting to his mouth. He didn't take his time and she was glad for it; she was wound so tight it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge. Her hand clutched at the back of his head, holding him to her even as she knew he wouldn't leave. Not until she was satisfied. Two fingers slipped into her heat, thrusting with the perfect speed and pressure. The friction was just what she needed, her back arching as pleasure rolled through her, her husky moan of his name had him making a similar sound. He stayed until it was too much, her legs shaking with each soft flick.

“Jorah, take me. I need you.”

He couldn't deny her, not with her hooded eyes gazing up at him, her hands reaching out for his body. He drew his fingers from her and stood, grasping the back of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. She made an appreciative sound at the sight of his bare chest, his fingers working to free himself from the confines of his trousers. He didn't even bother to pull them all the way down, her sex clenching at the passionate urgency in his eyes. She wanted this from him, wanted him to grasp her hips and sheath himself to the hilt in one swift plunge. And he did just that, grunting low in his throat at her walls still pulsing with the last vestiges of her orgasm. He wasn't rough, but his pace was quick enough, his hard, deep thrusts making the most erotic sound. And she was too, her hand holding tight to edge of the table, the other kneading her breast, pinching her nipple just enough.

His nostrils flared, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing with each pull of her body against his own. She felt so wanton like this, knowing that he kept glancing down to where he disappeared inside her, and while she couldn't see it, she could feel it, the ease with which his cock moved with her, against her. He must be soaked with her and the thought alone is enough to send more wetness flowing over him.

Now he was moaning too, his brow tensing, his jaw dropping open.

“Daenerys--.” He wanted to tell her he was close, but he couldn't form the words, the culmination of his pleasure beginning to consume his mind and tighten his groin.

It didn’t matter, she knew. And she was right there too. When his thumb dipped between her legs to rub at her swollen jewel, her thighs started twitching against his hips, a fluttering starting deep in her sex. He was panting, holding back, waiting for her.

But he didn't have to wait long, her release slammed into her without warning, her walls pulsing around his cock, her wide eyes trained on his. He lost all finesse, growling through the final few thrusts before he stilled deep and his head tipped back, a breathless, drawn-out 'fuck' falling from his parted lips. The heat of his release warmed her, each pulse setting off an aftershock of pleasure in her.

They gasped for air, his hand letting go of her hip to brace his weight, the other caressing her sweat-damp skin in the sweetest, softest way, so incongruous with their passionate lovemaking.

“Daenerys, love, are you all right,” he asked, his voice achingly tender, his face etched with concern.

He was such a gentleman, almost terrified of losing control with her. “My silly bear,” she sighed, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt, “it’s okay that you got a bit wild with me. It’s what I wanted after all.”

He let out a chuckle, his softening member slipping wetly from her body. She felt the trickle of their combined release seep from her body. Jorah noticed too, “Sorry, love. Wait right there.”

He put himself to rights and disappeared to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm, damp face cloth. He cleaned her gently, the heat soothing to her tender flesh. Then he was gathering her in his arms to carry her to the sofa. He tried his best to hide his grimace, but Daenerys saw right through his 'stiff upper lip' act, not to mention, his hold on her was faltering. She slipped to stand on shaky legs, “Jorah, you shouldn't do that.”

“I'm fine, Daenerys,” he responded, but his voice was strained and tight.

“You're not. Sit down.”

Not willing to argue, he did and she knelt beside him. Easing the bandage off, she hissed at the fresh blood staining the snow-white gauze. “Jorah,” she chided softly, “I think you reopened the wound.”

He glanced down, “No, I just pulled the stitches a bit.”

“Oh, just that.” She shook her head at him, sighing. “No more carrying me or vigorous activities for you.”

“All right, love,” he conceded, tucking her mussed hair behind her ear. Sometimes he let his desires get the best of him, especially when it came to her. But he was willing to listen.

“You stay right there and I’ll get the first aid kit,” she admonished, though there was no real anger in her tone.

Once she returned with the white metal box, Jorah guided her through the cleaning and redressing of the wound. She worked quietly and carefully, committing the steps to memory in case another mishap occurred. But it wouldn’t, not if she had any say in the matter. When she was finished, she put the kit back in the duffle, then went to wash her hands. On her way back, she grabbed Jorah’s shirt from the floor and put it on, watching how his eyes moved over her petite frame now dwarfed by his clothing, a smile as evident there as it was on his lips. She could tell how much he loved her wearing it and it was no secret that she loved wearing it too. Not only was it comfy and warm, it also smelled like him. And that was her favorite part of all.

“Come here, love,” he said, his voice gentle and low, his good arm outstretched in invitation. With a fire roaring in the hearth, Daenerys curled into Jorah’s lap, sighing with contentment. Soon, he reclined along the seat cushions of the old leather sofa, her head resting against the furry warmth of his chest, her body fitting to him like she was meant to be there. Because she was. _They_ were meant to be like that. Together.


End file.
